Damage: an Arranged Marriage Mafia Romance

by Natasha Knight

  A walkie talkie screeches and Lucas pushes the button to reply.

  “We’re in position. There’s two on the roof, two at the door. Can’t get inside without making some noise.”

  I take the walkie talkie. “No noise. I want to be inside. I want to see their faces and hear their lies. Once we’re in, give me fifteen minutes. If you don’t have a signal from me, find your way in making as much noise as you need to and kill every bastard in the place.”

  “You sure?” Lucas asks.

  “This meeting isn’t sanctioned. We’ll walk in through the front door.”

  “That’s not wise, Stefan. Let me send men to take—”

  “We’re walking in using the front door.”

  Although reluctantly, he nods.

  I count the men as our remaining three SUVs pull into the parking lot.

  “Just the four outside. It’s not a lot,” Lucas says.

  “They don’t expect me to show up. That’s Catalano’s car. And there are the cousins from Syracuse. No representation from Rome.” That’s a good thing.

  The front doors open as the SUV I’m riding in pulls to a stop. Two soldiers, each with a machine gun slung over his shoulder, step outside and watch as I climb out. Catalano’s men. Overkill with him. Always.

  Tonight, we’ll test their loyalty to a man sentenced to die. Because Catalano will die tonight.

  “Gentlemen,” I say, walking right up to them. Lucas flanks me as do two more soldiers. “Step aside.”

  One of Catalano’s soldiers keeps his hard gaze on me but the second falters.

  I take another step right up to the one with the hard eyes. “I said step aside.”

  “This is a private meeting, Mr. Sabbioni.”

  My lips move into a sneer. Who the fuck does this idiot think he is?

  “Is it?” I ask, gripping his machine gun with both hands. Before he or anyone can react, I tug backward and slam the gun into his forehead, sending him stumbling, catching him with the tether. “This is my warehouse.”

  Footsteps from behind him have me stop as lights blink on. I count more men. Maybe half a dozen. All heavily armed.

  “Stefan,” Francesco Catalano calls out. He’s flanked by two soldiers when he stops, looks at me, cocks his head to the side.

  “Good you’re here. Saves us a trip to Palermo,” he says.

  “Uncle.” Hate makes the word sound ugly. Without taking my eyes off my uncle, I draw the machine gun back once more and knock the soldier harder this time and when he stumbles to the floor, I let him drop.

  “That was unnecessary,” Catalano says as the soldier scrambles back to his feet. “Hand over your weapons and come in.”

  “Are you inviting me into my own warehouse?”

  “Don’t make this ugly, Stefan.”

  “Oh, I’m going to make this very ugly.”

  “No weapons in the meeting. It was agreed upon.”

  “I didn’t sanction a meeting. I agree to nothing.”

  “Things have escalated beyond your control.” He gives a nod and more men step out of the shadows. We’re outnumbered, easily, and out-gunned by the size of their automatic weapons.

  But I’ve never needed that much muscle to get my point across.

  The man I just knocked over takes my arms, twists them behind my back, another begins to search me. They do the same to Lucas and machine guns are aimed on the rest of my men.

  “Drop your weapons,” Catalano commands.

  33

  Gabriela

  When Stefan leaves, the soldier takes my arm to walk me upstairs, but I yank it away.

  “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me!”

  He steps backward and I look at the closed study door. Is Rafa still here? What did he tell Stefan?

  I walk toward it, but the soldier approaches. He doesn’t expect me to stop, to turn to him.

  “Mr. Sabbioni said you’re to pack,” he says.

  “I will,” I tell him. “I need to see Rafa first.”

  “I don’t think—”

  I don’t wait for him to finish but open the study door and enter to find Rafa sitting on the couch, two soldiers standing nearby.

  He looks at me when I enter and again, I see what I’ve glimpsed more than once in his eyes. A regret. A deep sadness.

  “I’m sorry,” he says to me. “I don’t know what I was thinking touching you like that.” He runs his hands through his hair. “Fuck.”

  “Leave us alone,” I tell the soldiers.

  They look at me and I’m not sure if they don’t understand English so I repeat my command in Italian.

  Rafa seems surprised by this, as do the two men, but a moment later, we’re alone.

  I sit on the couch.

  “Aren’t you afraid of me?” he asks.

  “No. I’m not. Not even a little.”

  “He’s going to get himself killed.” He gets to his feet. “I need to go after him.”

  “Where did he go? What did you tell him?”

  He shakes his head, considers, then looks at me. “There’s a meeting. My father—Francesco Catalano—called it. They’re voting to remove Stefan from his position.”

  I’m confused. Is that how this works?

  When I don’t speak, Rafa continues, clarifying. “They’ll kill him, Gabriela.”

  “And you let him go? Let him walk into that trap?”

  “No. I came to warn him. I should have known he’d go himself, though. He’s just stubborn enough. You need to get out of here. They’ll come for you. For everyone in this house.”

  “Does that include you?”

  He looks up at the ceiling, shakes his head, then turns to me. “If I can get out of here, I can stop it.”

  “Why are they doing this?”

  “Power. Hate. You name it. Any ugliness you can think. I need to get to him, Gabriela. They’ll kill him. He doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know everything.”

  “What doesn’t he understand? What doesn’t he know?”

  He walks to the desk, opens a drawer, then another.

  “What are you doing? You can’t go through Stefan’s desk.”

  He finds what he’s looking for, a pistol, and, I assume, ammunition he pockets. “I need to go.” He looks at me, gets a strange look on his face as he approaches me. “I’m sorry, Gabriela,” he says, grabbing hold of me and whirling me around so my back is to his chest, the gun at my temple.

  “Rafa!”

  He opens the door and steps out, holding me as a shield as Stefan’s soldiers draw their weapons but stand impotently watching as Rafa cocks the gun.

  “I’ll kill her. I’ll fucking kill her! And he’ll kill you if that happens.”

  “Let me go!” I scream, scratching my nails into his forearm trying to pull him off as he drags me to the front door, and out of it, to the side of the house. More soldiers follow, drawing weapons, orders being yelled to halt, to not shoot as long as he has me.

  A few moments later, we near a building I’ve not been inside and Rafa pushes the door open, forces me in, closes and locks it before releasing me.

  “Are you crazy?”

  I look around while rubbing my neck. We’re in a garage where Stefan’s Bugatti is parked. There’s another car under a cover, too. I’ve never been in here before.

  “Stay here until I’m gone,” he tells me, walking to a small cabinet and opening it, choosing a key.

  “You’re going after him! That was a trick!”

  He opens the driver’s side door and before he can get in, I’m around the car and opening the passenger door.

  “You’re not going with me. Get out.”

  I shake my head, close the door. “You need me. I’m your hostage. Stefan’s soldiers will kill you before you make it to the property gates without me here.”

  “Car’s bulletproof. Get out.”

  “They’ll shoot the tires.”

  “We don’t have time for this.”

  Something rams against t
he door and the wood splinters.

  “No, we don’t! Go!”

  He’s out of time and out of choices as the next time they ram whatever it is they’ve got into the door, it opens.

  “Get down!” Rafa yells as he hits the gas and we crash through the garage door and out onto the dirt road.

  Machine guns fire but soon stop. They must know I’m in the car, too. It gives Rafa the edge he needs to get off the property, just making it through the still open gates before they close on him, the Bugatti bouncing and screeching as he hits the main road hard and we’re on our way.

  34

  Stefan

  I’m not one to obey commands. Catalano must know this.

  The man behind me twists my arms.

  I lean my head forward then ram the back of it into his nose. I don’t have to turn around to see the damage. I hear it. And I felt it. I just broke his nose and he’s in a world of pain. As soon as my arms are free, I slam an elbow into his gut.

  Rifles are aimed at me as I straighten, adjust my jacket sleeves and glare at Catalano.

  “That was a mistake, Stefan,” he says as he raises his pistol inches from my face.

  I grip his forearm and when he cocks the weapon, I aim it away.

  “You’re outnumbered. Outmaneuvered,” he says.

  “And you overestimate yourself.”

  “You’ve always been a cocky son of a bitch.”

  “I don’t take kindly to people who insult my mother.”

  “Fuck you, Stefan. You piece of shit.”

  “Stefan,” Lucas says.

  I turn to find three men with weapons aimed at his chest and head.

  Well, Catalano’s right that we’re outnumbered, at least for the moment, but we’re nowhere near outmaneuvered.

  I give Catalano a smirk and let go of his forearm.

  He takes a moment, probably trying to gauge if I’m going to break his nose the minute he puts his gun down.

  I’m not.

  “Francesco,” I say, my tone musical, my voice relaxed. Because men like him, I know. Men like him, I crush.

  He uncocks his pistol and drops his arm but doesn’t put the gun away. “Cuff him,” he orders one of his men.

  A moment later, my hands are cuffed in front of me. At least they’re not behind me.

  “Show me in,” I say.

  I follow him to a room at the end of the hall. He pushes open the doors and I take inventory.

  I’m not surprised, really. Well, maybe a little.

  Two uncles from Syracuse are sitting at the rectangular table. Along with them are their boys, that makes a total of six plus Catalano. Seven.

  Them I expect.

  It’s Gabriel Marchese sitting with a smirk on his face I don’t expect.

  “Stefan,” he says, that smirk spreading into a wide, satisfied grin as he stands, extending his hand to me. “What a surprise.”

  I study him, try to see any resemblance to Gabriela, and happily see none.

  “Dad,” I say, smiling wide myself as I take his hand, my hard grip matching his.

  He loosens his grip to let me go, but I hold tight, my smile a sneer.

  For one moment, Marchese’s face is wiped clean of his grin.

  I drop his hand, take in the other men in my periphery. Four soldiers. Catalano’s men.

  From the looks on their faces, it’s clear no one expected to see me.

  Lucas takes his place to my right.

  “Gentlemen,” I say.

  The Syracuse men glance at one another. “S…Stefan,” one begins to rise, and the others follow.

  I go to the first one, extend my cuffed hand to shake his.

  “Uncle. It’s good to see you. And my cousins.”

  I look the men over. Young, this one. Eighteen, if I recall. The others are older. I make a mental note of who they are. They’ll be dealt with if they survive the night.

  After we’ve all shaken hands, I pull a chair over from across the room and set it at the table, gesture for Catalano to take the seat as I make my way to the head of the table.

  Catalano’s face betrays annoyance, then rage.

  “I didn’t realize we did business with people outside our family,” I say to him.

  “Business is business. This is the new way of doing things.”

  “So let me guess. My father-in-law is here to support you financially.”

  Catalano falters. He glances around the table, his expression uneasy.

  Marchese clears his throat. “Hardly matters where the money comes from as long as it’s there.”

  “Let’s get on with things,” I say. “You were taking a vote?”

  Catalano sits. “We’ve already voted.”

  “And? I’m curious about the results.”

  “You don’t belong at the head of this once-great family, Stefan,” Catalano says.

  “You’re not even part of this family, Francesco,” I remind him.

  Hate dulls his dark eyes. “Rafa is. You can’t deny that.”

  “Rafa is not a blood cousin to the Sabbioni.”

  He smirks. “No. He’s more than that.”

  “Francesco,” one of the Syracuse men warns.

  Catalano doesn’t take his eyes off me. “It’s time he knew. Past time.”

  “Then do tell,” I say, sounding calmer than I feel because I have a very bad feeling about this.

  “You Sabbioni think you’re mightier than the rest of us. Better, somehow. More entitled to life.”

  “I think no such thing.”

  “How have you ever treated Rafa?”

  “Like a brother. How have you treated him?”

  “Funny you say that,” he starts, not bothering to answer my question. “See, there’s a reason your father was so good to him.”

  “Because he was my aunt’s son. And my father loved my aunt.”

  “Yes, he did. That’s one thing we can agree on.”

  I wait.

  “Very much. He loved both sisters, didn’t he? Had a hard time deciding between them.”

  “Be careful, Francesco. Be very careful.”

  I see every one of his yellowing teeth when he smiles. “No need for me to be careful anymore,” he says, gesturing to his armed men. “As I was saying, your father loved both sisters.”

  I think about what Rafa had said over and over again. That he’s like a brother to me. That he is a brother to me.

  I grow very still, understanding slowly what Catalano has. Or thinks he has.

  “He’s older than you by two months.”

  “He is.”

  “And that gives him the right to rule.”

  I wait. Because I need to hear the words.

  “Your father never could keep his dick in his pants.”

  At that, I lunge for him, but two sets of hands close over my shoulders and push me back into my seat and as soon as Lucas moves from his place, another soldier shoves the barrel of his gun into his chest.

  “But I blame your mother, really. Couldn’t satisfy her husband so he had to go slithering about and my whore wife, well, she spread her legs wide for that snake.”

  “I’m going to kill you slow, Francesco.”

  He laughs outright at that and I grip the edges of the table. My guess is I have another four, five minutes tops before my men raid this place. I want to be sure Francesco survives because I want to do the killing myself.

  “Here,” he says, reaching into his pocket. “Proof, if you need it. Our cousins have already seen the DNA report.”

  “Francesco,” one of the Syracuse cousins starts.

  Catalano holds up his hand, eyes locked on me. “Quiet, cousin. We took the vote.”

  “Tell me how you each voted.”

  “It was unanimous,” Catalano answers.

  “You’ll understand if I want to hear from each man’s mouth.”

  “You should have killed Marchese when you had the chance, Stefan,” one of the cousins says. “It’s weakened you, this game you
’re playing. Weakened us.”

  “How exactly? I’ll be taking over Marchese’s ships. You have to think farther than next week, cousin.”

  “It’s personal for you.”

  “Yeah, it’s fucking personal. He’s the reason Antonio turned on us. He’s the reason my father is dead. And he’s the man who had Antonio killed.”

  He drops his gaze.

  “Too much talking,” Francesco starts, standing. “Take him out back. Kill him like the dog he is,” he tells the soldiers.

  It takes two of them to haul me to my feet and even then, I manage to punch one in the face and the other gets an elbow in the gut before they manage to move me.

  I think about Gabriela. About what they’ll do to her if they get to her.

  I think about my promise to her.

  My promise to come back to her.

  But when they manage to shuffle me to the door, it opens in on us and Rafa stands on the other side of it, and behind him, Gabriela comes running.

  Fuck!

  “Get her out of here!” I order someone. Anyone.

  Rafa looks back, catches her when she tries to come into the room.

  “I told you to take the fucking car! To go!”

  “Get off me!” She struggles against him, eyes on me, then on the men around me.

  “Gabriela!” Marchese is behind me. “What’s she doing here?” I’m not sure who he’s asking.

  “Let her go!” I shout. Fuck. This fucks things up. “Lucas. Get her out of here.”

  “No!” she cries.

  I have one, two minutes maybe before all hell breaks loose.

  “Good you’re here,” Catalano says, looking at Rafa. “You should be the one to do it. Kill him and take your place. Claim your birthright.”

  Rafa looks from me to Catalano and back.

  “Let him go,” Rafa commands the soldiers who have me.

  “I give the orders, Rafa. Until he’s dead,” Catalano says.

  Rafa looks to Catalano, then back to me.

  “How long have you known?” I ask Rafa.

  “A few months.”

  “Months?”

  He nods.

  “Why didn’t you tell me yourself?”

  He shrugs a shoulder, can’t quite hold my gaze. When he finally forces himself to I see that same look in his eyes as I saw earlier. Sadness. Regret.